


my leg is sparkles, my leg is pins

by Batman



Series: jaywalkers [11]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6862765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman/pseuds/Batman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Sit,' Akaashi says, pushing his shoulders lightly with both hands, smiling down at him. From this angle he looks as powerful as all of Koutarou's professors told him he would, and Koutarou gulps even as he smiles back. 'No pictures, only me, okay?'</p><p>A few steps away from the couch, close to the wall, is Akaashi's private station. It's not as fancy as the one at Vertigo, of course, but Koutarou loves it anyway.</p><p>'Okay,' Koutarou says through the burn that's still in his throat. He puts away his bag. 'Go ahead then.'</p><p>Today in jaywalking: bed, bath and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my leg is sparkles, my leg is pins

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [искры и канкан](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468180) by [MsFlaffy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsFlaffy/pseuds/MsFlaffy)



> I have N E V E R, IN MY FUCKING LIFE, smiled/grinned/giggled harder than I did while writing this instalment. Please enjoy.
> 
> (Title from "Slow Show" by The National.)

** HELL IS EMPTY AND ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE: A SHORT TALK ON THE ETHICAL CONSEQUENCES OF PUTTING DECORATIVE ITEMS ON YOUR CEILING **

_ by Iwaizumi Hajime _

OKAY SO REMEMBER HOW I SAID THAT I'M ALWAYS THANKFUL FOR NEVER HAVING APOCALYPTIC SCENARIOS TOUCH ME DIRECTLY. WELL SEEING THAT I AM TYPING THIS UP ON MY PHONE [Editor's note: Edited now.] WHILE SITTING ON THIS FUTON AGAINST THE WALL, EXPERIENCING A SHORTNESS OF BREATH AND HEATING OF FACE, I TAKE THAT BACK. I DON'T TAKE IT BACK EXPLICITLY BECAUSE Gecko Tooru HAS HIS WAYS AND I AM NO MAN TO REFUTE THEM, BUT I AM A LITTLE HURT THAT HE WOULD ALLOW SUCH THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME RIGHT IN HIS HALLOWED ABODE. HIS HALLOWED ABODE BEING OIKAWA TOORU'S APARTMENT.

NOW, BELIEVE YOU ME THAT I WOULD NEVER STEP FOOT IN THIS GENTLEMAN'S RESIDENCE (REGARDLESS OF MY RESPECT FOR Gecko Tooru) VOLUNTARILY, OR EVEN INVOLUNTARILY. IT'S ONE OF THOSE VAMPIRE THINGS, LIKE, THEY CAN'T STEP OVER THE THRESHOLD. I'M NOT IMPLYING THAT I AM A VAMPIRE. OR OKAY, I AM A VAMPIRE. BUT ONLY FOR OIKAWA. [Editor's note: This was followed by a two-paragraph defence that went weird places. Suffice it to say this article is slightly abridged.]

THE PROBLEM WAS THAT THERE IS CURRENTLY SOME KIND OF PEST INTERVENTION GOING ON IN THE CAMPUS RESIDENCES, AND THE SMELL DRIVES ME UP THE WALL SO I USUALLY SLEEP OVER AT A FRIEND'S PLACE. THIS TIME 'ROUND, MY BUNKMATE USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI BAILED.

"WHY DID YOU DO THIS," I ASKED HIM, TO WHICH HE REPLIED THAT HE WAS SUPPOSED TO TUTOR SOME SECOND-YEARS IN ENGLISH. "WHICH SECOND YEARS," I ASKED HIM, AND THE ANSWER SHOOK ME TO MY VERY BONES: TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE AND NISHINOYA YUU. HERE IS A SOUNDBYTE FROM USHIJIMA HIMSELF, ABOUT NISHINOYA:

"He worships no God," USHIJIMA SAYS. "He bites his ice cream because he feels nothing and his heart is made of coal. He only cares about Skittles, and vodka, and Skittles Vodka."

[Editor's note: Anyway.]

THE FIRST THING I NOTICED ABOUT OIKAWA THIS EVENING APART FROM HOW CLEAN HIS APARTMENT IS (AS USUAL. OKAY I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE.) HIS ATTIRE. DON'T GET ME WRONG, I DON'T ACTIVELY CHOOSE TO LOOK AT WHAT THE GUY IS WEARING, IT'S JUST THAT HE WAS WEARING, LITERALLY, A UNICORN KIGURUMI. IT WAS 9 PM.

"WHAT ARE YOU WEARING."

"❀Pyjamas.❀"

"IT IS 9 PM."

"❀I know.❀"

I CAST A PLEADING LOOK TOWARDS THE GLASS SHRINE OF Gecko Tooru. THE GENTLE LIZARD SLUMBERED PEACEFULLY, CLEARLY NOT ASSIGNING A GREAT AMOUNT OF REPTILIAN CONCERN TO THE VERY CONCERNING FACT THAT OIKAWA TOORU ACTUALLY LOOKED CUTE IN THE KIGURUMI. THEN I REALISED THAT IT HAD TO BE BECAUSE Gecko Tooru WAS COMPLETELY USED TO THIS SIGHT. I BRIEFLY WONDERED WHAT NOT BEING CONSTANTLY AMAZED BY OIKAWA TOORU MUST FEEL LIKE, BEFORE TURNING BACK TO THE KIGURUMI-WEARING HORROR.

"❀I'll set up the futon, you can take the bed, handsome.❀"

"NO, I KNOW YOU HAVE A BAD BACK." I SAID THIS OUT OF THE KINDNESS OF MY HEART, NOT KNOWING THE REGRET THIS WOULD BRING AT A LATER POINT.

OKAY, HAVE A LITTLE BACKSTORY. OR RATHER, A LITTLE EXPLANATION OF JUST HOW MUCH I _DON'T_ KNOW ABOUT OIKAWA TOORU DESPITE HAVING BEEN IN HIS TERRIBLE PRESENCE FOR THE THIRD YEAR RUNNING. I DON'T EVEN KNOW HIS FUCKING MAJOR, OKAY. LIKE LITERALLY NO ONE KNOWS WHAT HE'S STUDYING. [Editor's note: Okay, this is true.] I ONLY KNOW THINGS LIKE HOW HE HATES ALMONDS AND CRIES WHEN HE SEES OLD LONELY PEOPLE IN RESTAURANTS AND HAS A BAD BACK. LIKE I SAID, I DON'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT OIKAWA TOORU BUT EVEN I KNOW THAT HE HAS A GIANT BONER FOR ALIENS.

AND YET. AND YET I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN PREPARED IN ANY WAY FOR WHAT GREETED ME WHEN I ROLLED OVER ONTO MY BACK AFTER A FEW MINUTES OF CONVERSATION ABOUT WHAT KIND OF PASTA LOOKS THE PRETTIEST (CONCLUSION: TAGLIATELLE). THERE, IN THE UTTER DARKNESS OF A PAST-MIDNIGHT ROOM, THERE GLOWED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE UTTER DARKNESS, THIS SINISTER, GREEN, THIS THING.

I HAVE NEVER SCREAMED SO LOUD AND SO HIGH IN MY LIFE. IT ACTUALLY BROUGHT BACK MEMORIES OF WHEN Count Dracula HAD A GO AT OIKAWA. NOT ONLY DID I SCREAM, ACTUALLY, I ALSO SAT UP AND HIT MY HEAD ON THE EDGE OF THE NIGHTSTAND HARD ENOUGH TO SEE STARS REVOLVING AROUND WHAT I NOW REGISTERED WAS A GLOWING ALIEN HEAD.

"❀Iwa-chan, what the fuck!❀"

"WHAT THE FUCK," I SAID. "WHAT THE FUCK _IS THAT THING._ "

"❀Oh, that! That's...well, it's an alien head.❀"

"I FUCKING SEE THAT. WHAT IS IT DOING ON YOUR CEILING."

"❀Where else do you stick glow-in-the-dark stuff?❀"

WELL, I MAY NOT HAVE AN ANSWER TO THAT BUT AS I TYPE THIS, WAITING FOR HIM TO BRING AN ICE PACK TO SOOTHE NOT ONLY MY CROWN BUT ALSO THE BRAIN UNDER IT, I CAN AT LEAST PASSIONATELY ADVOCATE FOR NOT PUTTING GLOW-IN-THE-DARK STUFF ON THE _CEILING._ THE NATURE OF THIS PRODUCT, PARTICULARLY WHEN IT COMES IN THE FORM OF ALIEN HEADS, IS ALREADY DISCONCERTING AND SOMETHING I AM SURE Gecko Tooru NEVER INTENDED TO EXIST WHEN HE SAID "Let There Be Light". NOT THIS. ANYTHING BUT THIS.

IN PASSING, I'M NOT SURE IF I TALKED ABOUT THIS BEFORE BUT OIKAWA TOORU IS WEARING A UNICORN KIGURUMI. IT IS BRIGHT PINK WITH A FLOPPY [Editor's note: Censored. We think Iwaizumi might have been experiencing a mild concussion.] AND I THINK IT'S JUST NOT VERY NICE THAT SOMEONE WHO IS CAPABLE OF LOOKING SO INNOCENT AND CUTE IN FULL-BODY UNICORN OUTFITS SHOULD ALSO BE DIABOLIC ENOUGH TO PUT GLOW-IN-THE-DARK ALIEN HEADS ON THE CEILING AND SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF UNSUSPECTING BOARDERS.

THE ICE PACK IS HERE. I WILL REVIEW IT NEXT TIME.

 

●●●

 

So Koutarou manages something that he thinks not a lot of other people must be able to manage. The thing is, his shtick is that he cares to such an unholy extent about _everything_ — from, like, endangered animal species to the perfect quantity of diced onions in omelettes to whether that little redhead runt Hinata has kickstarted his professional hugging career yet or not— that sometimes it turns right around and bites him in the ass in the form of apathy. Now, he really couldn't care about the apathy if it came and bit him in the ass, which it does. Because it wouldn't be new. He's been bit so often in this short life that he might as well have already been bitten by apathy. However, for this to happen, his apathy would have to be personified into a corporeal being as opposed to an emotional concept, and he doesn't really have the time to think about that kind of shit right now, because honestly if his apathy was a corporeal being right now, okay, it would be running the fuck out of this restaurant because there is no room for it when Akaashi's looking the way he's looking.

At this point even Koutarou knows that it's getting a little old. Oh, not how Akaashi looks, because he frankly thinks that that's never, ever going to get old, but rather the fact that it manages to punch him in the gut every time. He doesn't know how to explain it further than pointing out that he _did_ meet the guy in the first place because he took one thousand three hundred and seventeen pictures of him. Koutarou might be excitable but he really doesn't waste battery on every other portrait.

Sitting here across Akaashi with the blue-green lights of the restaurant making him look like something from a fairytale, Koutarou thinks that this is one hell of a portrait. His downcast eyes as he surveys the menu, the way his dark hair curls against his neck, how he takes half his bottom lip into his mouth in a way that looks like he doesn't even realise it— it's almost a trap, all of it, but at least one that Koutarou's walking into with his eyes wide open and camera ready.

Nineteen. Koutarou does his fair share of complaining about having a September birthday (Kuroo always tells him to shut up), but a December one must be fucking terrible, and this close to Christmas at that. (What, twenty days is close enough. If Koutarou wasn't head over heels for Akaashi he'd sure as hell try to pass off a combined present.) And for all the horrified looks he usually gets for only wearing light jackets in the beginning of winter like this— there's finally a snow forecast for next week even if Koutarou knows it's going to melt in, like, thirty seconds— Akaashi isn't much better. There are people walking in with goosedown already and he has on the thinnest trench Koutarou's ever seen in his life. If he didn't look a) toasty and b) godlike in it, Koutarou would be worried. Although over two months of dating, if he's figured out one thing it's that you don't need to worry about Akaashi Keiji.

'I'm a little worried,' Akaashi says. Koutarou starts. 'It seems that they've taken my favourite dessert off the menu.'

'I'll fight them,' Koutarou says immediately, and Akaashi snorts, shakes his head.

'They have other things I like, Bokuto-san. Please do not fight my favourite restaurant on my birthday.'

'I'll fight anyone any damn day I want.'

'Sure you will.'

Koutarou laughs and leans back in his chair, lifting his glass back to his lips. It's less tonic and more gin and ice, but sometimes that's the way he likes it. (The fact that he's having it in the first place can be credited to Akaashi, who has the funniest preference for this particular drink.) He likes it, likes how everything matches visually— the lights of the restaurant with what Akaashi's wearing, and the colour of their plates and their drinks. He could take a thousand more pictures right now, but instead he takes one more swig of his drink and watches Akaashi frown over the desserts.

'I can't believe you'd still want to eat a sweet after that diabetes-on-a-plate thing that Sugawara uploaded on his Instagram. Or did you just eat a spoonful of that?'

Akaashi quirks a corner of his mouth. 'We shared. I had three slices. I believe Kaori ate most of it. I hope she's alive.'

'I've seen Kaori eat,' Koutarou says darkly. Kaori is by far Akaashi's scariest friend, surpassing even Ennoshita in her levels of _I will literally fucking end you if you breathe wrong around me_ , and naturally her terrifying prowess extends to consuming food too. She could be Saeko junior, actually. 'I hope everyone _else_ was alive.'

In the end they share an ice cream sundae, painting a picture that he's sure Sawamura would give himself an attack laughing at, and Koutarou's still smiling unstoppably— no, he literally can't stop _himself_ — when he finishes the last of his drink. It's been a long evening but in the best of ways. He's already looking forward to walking along the trees, laughing about this and that, pressing Akaashi up against his door and kissing him goodnight. (All right, so maybe he's a little more excited about that last part than he is about the others. He's _human,_ okay.)

'Hey,' Akaashi says then, tapping his spoon lightly against the bowl. It's rhythmic but Koutarou knows he's thinking about something. 'Koutarou.'

The last of the gin burns a line down his throat. _Koutarou._

'Yeah?'

'Come over,' he says. 'I want to play a private set for you.'

 

●●●

 

'Okay, I'm not gonna lie,' Ennoshita says. 'I really do love energy drinks. It's like candy. But angry candy.'

'Angry candy,' Akaashi repeats in a voice so dead that Koushi almost feels sorry for him. Swiftly remembering that it is Akaashi who chose Ennoshita for a best friend, however, Koushi turns back to his omelette. It is every bit worth the Instagram spamming he's been doing; the entire meal is, actually. (It's not that Koushi doesn't enjoy cooking at home; he loves it, and loves it more when Daichi does it because he actually makes a divine curry— and also, that toaster scream is always beautiful— but at the same time, it's wonderful to forget once in a while that they are supposed to be stingy students.) 'Angry candy, Chikara?'

'Look,' Ennoshita says. 'You should just be glad I didn't sneak a six pack in your fancy breakfast bar.'

' _Brunch_ ,' Akaashi says, and Ennoshita throws his hands up in the air, perfectly proving his point. Koushi laughs and slices through the roll, shaking his head.

'Hang on, hold that pose,' Kaori says, lifting her phone from beside her plate. 'Yeah, hold it. Keiji, put the damn menu down.'

Akaashi and Ennoshita met back in the day, both ambling around at the performing arts institute when they had other things to do. From then on, it’s been history, their group: a principal block of dance majors and their fans. Of course, he doesn't regret any of it. They're some of the best friends he has, and honestly the only ones who don't embarrass him on a daily basis.

He says this because while Kaori is happily taking pictures of Ennoshita and Akaashi's respectively justifiable exasperated faces, Michimiya is earnestly trying to convince Shimizu that she can down her entire virgin Long Island (which Koushi absolutely does _not_ understand the purpose of) in one go. Koushi isn't really sure if he wants to see the result of Shimizu actually _being_ convinced, so he sincerely hopes that she will remain her level-headed self.

'I want this,' Akaashi says finally, pointing at the menu. 'I have no idea how to say it, which is why I want it.'

'Classic,' Ennoshita says as Akaashi hands the menu to Koushi. Koushi has no idea how to say it either, so he taps Shimizu on the shoulder and shows it to her. 'No, for real. We could get ice cream, but _nooo._ '

'It's my birthday,' Akaashi says. 'I am not getting _ice cream._ '

'Bet you'd get ice cream with Kodak-san.'

'Of all the brands you could have chosen,' Kaori says. 'Canon and Nikon are _ours,_ and you go for the foreigner.'

'I would not get ice cream with Bokuto-san.' Akaashi raises his eyebrows when Koushi looks at him.. 'What, you think I would get ice cream with Bokuto-san?'

'You would absolutely get ice cream with Bokuto-san. Bokuto-san _loves_ ice cream.'

'Suga-san, I trusted you.'

Koushi smiles at him, the one that nearly makes his eyes close. He knows that for all his steadiness and general lack of intent to engage with emotions, Akaashi has a latent weakness for Koushi's smile. And for Koushi's dancing— all of their dancing, actually; Koushi, Shimizu, Michimiya.

'You'll be coming to the show tomorrow?' he asks, unnecessarily. 'It's the last one before all the Christmas performances start rolling in.'

'Absolutely,' Akaashi says. 'I wouldn't miss it for the world.'

'Good. And hey, I'm sure Daichi will drag Bokuto-san along too.' It isn't as if the performing arts faculties don't have their own student photographers, but Daichi always gets Bokuto to come along whenever he can, not to mention Bokuto's own enthusiasm for their performances. More often than not, the newsletter also publishes his pictures of them. He's something of a legend, really; Koushi wasn't lying when he was initially talking about him to Akaashi. He's never met someone who shoots with so much love that every subject looks beautiful.

'I'd be there even if he wasn't, you know that.'

'I know that.' Koushi smiles again, lifts the last bite to his lips. 'So, dessert?'

'Dessert.'

'I hope you know how much sugar goes in that,' Shimizu says, tapping the menu with her long purple nail. 'I'm going to make you do extra crunches during warm-ups today.'

'Good, then I can get abs like Bokuto-san too.'

Akaashi looks like he was about to ask whether Bokuto really has abs and then chose to refrain. Koushi laughs and takes the menu from Shimizu, looks up to find the waiter. Dessert's on him.

 

●●●

 

Akaashi's apartment is exactly like Koutarou imagined it to be. It doesn't look like a student's apartment at all, despite the modest size and minimal furnishing. It's more like Akaashi knows where things are supposed to go and then actually _puts_ them there. Books in the bookshelf, plates in the kitchen sink, only cushions on the couch. For all that he's always _clean_ , Koutarou's not quite this perfect about his shit either. He never expected the same from Akaashi, though, so he only smiles as he toes his shoes off.

'It's a little unfair that it's the first time I'm seeing your place,' he says as Akaashi shrugs off his coat and hangs it up. God, his shoulders. 'You've seen mine like, five hundred times.'

'You're closer to campus.'

'Oh yeah, and we all know how you hate walking.'

Akaashi shakes his head, reaches out to take Koutarou's wrist. His fingers are still freezing from the chill outside, more so because Koutarou's always a furnace, but Koutarou lets him lead the way until they come to a stop in front of his dark couch.

'Sit,' Akaashi says, pushing his shoulders lightly with both hands, smiling down at him. From this angle he looks as powerful as all of Koutarou's professors told him he would, and Koutarou gulps even as he smiles back. 'No pictures, only me, okay?'

'Okay,' Koutarou says through the burn that's still in his throat. He puts away his bag. 'Go ahead then.'

Akaashi smiles a little sharper. Koutarou thinks he might have been more expressive this evening than in the rest of their interactions combined, but that could just be the evening. It _is_ his birthday, after all, and Koutarou still remembers the sunlit buzz of his own. He knows it's been a good day for Akaashi; no class, brunch with his friends, dinner with him, and now this. Whatever this is. Koutarou might not be the fastest on the uptake sometimes, but he knows what he's supposed to know. He knows that this is more than just playing a private set— although he'd die happy even stopping at a private set— but what he hadn’t known is that the realisation would speed his heartbeat up to this extent.

A few steps away from the couch, close to the wall, is Akaashi's private station. It's not as fancy as the one at Vertigo, of course, but Koutarou loves it anyway. Loves that Akaashi destroys all the academic work he's supposed to and is still this headstrong about what he loves to do apart from that. That he decided to come work at Vertigo, was good enough to get the job, is good enough to be everyone's favourite. Maybe it's just that it's his birthday and he looks a little more divine than usual, but as Koutarou watches him lift his headphones to one ear and raise a hand over the turntables, he swears he's never been so smitten in his life.

When Akaashi starts playing, Koutarou's torn about something he never thought he would be— he almost wants to close his eyes to feel the beat in every joint of his body. He remembers something that Saeko had told him once, all the way back in his first year. They'd been leaning against the counter of some bar, nodding their heads to the music playing over the speakers, Saeko exchanging winks with the DJ at times.

'All right, so anyone can mix music,' she'd said, tapping her glow stick on the bridge of his nose. 'You can chop up two songs and rearrange them and that's mixing music. Not everyone can be a DJ.'

'Explain.'

'A DJ knows the crowd. No, understands— _feels_ the crowd. The DJ feels how much you've had to drink and what it's doing in your head right now, he knows what you've been smoking.'

'And?'

'A real DJ— fuck that, a real _musician_ ,' she'd said, leaning forward and grinning sharply at Koutarou, 'times his music to the pulse of your blood. If you're drunk he'll get you drunker. If you're tripping he'll make you see stars. That's a real musician. Drunk to drunker.'

Koutarou isn't drunk.

Koutarou isn't drunk, but his breaths start coming in time with the flow of Akaashi's music, and with each one that he takes, it gets a little deeper, until each inhale is catching unnaturally in his throat before he lets it back out. Akaashi's tilting his head, holding his headphones between his ear and his shoulder, so focused on his task that he might as well have forgotten Koutarou's there. And he fucking loves that.

So he lets his eyes slip closed and feels the air change around him. His hands are on his lap, his knees trembling just on this side of noticeable, a pleasant, singing sort of darkness where his restless thoughts usually are. It's always so breathtaking when someone does that to him, it really is, and so he takes it in as much as he possibly can until he can't anymore. Then he opens his eyes and looks at Akaashi, and sees that Akaashi is already looking at him. His eyes have the same focus that they had for his turntables.

Koutarou thinks it might actually be the music pulling him up in sync, but whatever it is, he finds himself standing up and crossing the space between them over to Akaashi's station. The music is still playing, fluid beats like the pulse of his blood, and Koutarou reaches out, gently, gently pulling the headphones out of Akaashi's grip. He sets them down carefully and takes Akaashi's hand over the discs, tugs on it without a word, leading him out, around the table.

When he's fully in Koutarou's arms, Koutarou kisses him. Akaashi's hands are against his chest, his arms folded between their bodies in a way that makes his elbows dig just slightly into Koutarou's ribs. Koutarou pulls him in closer, wraps his own arms tighter around him, bites his bottom lip. Akaashi kisses back hungrily, changing the angle, taking command.

He tastes like the syrup from the corny fucking sundae they had earlier, and a little bit like the gin, too. Koutarou's heart is thumping with the bass, and he doesn't know if it's the sound he's feeling in his chest or Akaashi. All he knows is that no matter how hard he pulls Akaashi against himself, it's not enough. No matter how hard he kisses Akaashi, it's not enough. His hands move over Akaashi's thin shirt and clutch at his shoulders for a moment, then wrap around his neck, thumbs resting under his ears where he can feel it— the fucking _sound—_ in Akaashi's pulse too, and he holds on, curls his fingers into Akaashi's hair, kisses him over and over again. When Akaashi starts to get breathless, Koutarou moves a little more, running his thumbs over his cheekbones this time, under his eyes, pressing lightly and leaving trails of his eyeliner on the delicate stretch of skin just under its original lines.

The tip of his thumb comes away darkened with it, and the sight makes his gut twist.

Koutarou cares so much about everything that he's almost addled with apathy. He loves everything so much that he hardly loves anything at all. And yet, Akaashi fucking Keiji does things with discs and needles that make him heave for breath, all the while without losing his own calm. Here he is, hungry, yes, but composed. And so God help him if he doesn’t want to see how many different ways he can strain that composure in.

'What are we doing?' he whispers when they next pull apart. 'Hmm?'

'It's my birthday,' Akaashi replies, and Koutarou laughs, a little roughly. 'We do what I want.'

'And what do you want?'

The music's still playing, Koutarou's still losing his mind, his hands are still shaking on Akaashi's face, more so than he ever thought they would. Akaashi puts his own over them and turns to kiss his palm, grazing his teeth slightly over the base of his thumb. Koutarou exhales and wills his eyes to stay open, and it's worth the trouble— Akaashi smiles, lips still pressed to his thumb, and looks right at him.

'You, of course,' he says. 'You've got to keep up, Bokuto-san.'

 

●●●

 

Their particular group works in a very predictable manner. Kise Ryouta, their fourth teammate, bounds in at odd times of the day, so consistently holding a beverage inappropriate to that particular time of the day that it's more rule than exception (examples include triple shot espressos at 11 PM and, once, a bottle of Absolut at 8 AM, complete with _scones_ in his other hand) and declares to the room the most outlandish idea that he has come up with so far. (He also consistently outdoes himself.) Then Koushi and Shimizu look at each other and sigh, and make him sit down at a table to explain it properly so that they can assess the mechanical possibility of it and how to make it work. (They always want to make it work, and they have never failed.) Then Michimiya takes her best puppy eyes to their coaches and heads of funding and single-handedly cons them into accepting Kise's outlandish idea.

Then they dance.

A couple of months ago, when it was still too warm to be holding a coffee as big and hot as he had been holding, Kise had skipped into their dance studio close to midnight and whipped his phone out with a wide grin on his face. 'Okay, look at this. We're absolutely doing this. Look at it. We are _doing it_.'

'This is a video of a cat eating a banana,' Shimizu said.

'Shit. Fuck. Hang on, not that. We're not doing that. We're doing _this._ '

 _This_ had been a mirrored, repetitive dance which was clearly doctored to be mirrored and repetitive. Koushi had immediately attempted to shut Kise down as gently as possible, which was always a preliminary plan. At the time, it had seemed impossible to execute that kind of visual in realtime, especially knowing what some of the juniors were like when it came to timing as precise as that.

Then Shimizu pulled a pencil out of her hair and opened a notebook, and Koushi let his voice trail off as Kise pulled up a chair.

They're wearing relatively tight clothing for the performance which makes him glad that the hall has decent heating. He doesn't want to shiver a single bit on the stage, especially because there are times when everyone has to be still.

He looks at himself in the mirror, half-critical. He's still not sure of how good his shirt looks with his hair, but Kise (who is, in fact, a part-time model) very gently told him to remove from his head the misconception that _anything_ could look less than stellar on him (Koushi definitely swatted the back of his head for that one). And well, honestly, if he looked _that_ terrible no one would let him onto the stage. He might be a good dancer but he's not sure if he's _that_ good of a dancer.

There's a knock on the door of the dressing room, and Koushi calls out his presence. When the door opens, he sees that it's Daichi, and smiles, waves.

'Hey,' Daichi says. 'Brought you your tofu.'

Among the amusing traditions Daichi and Koushi have carried over since childhood, perhaps one of the most amusing is Koushi's habit of having a bite or two of his favourite tofu dish before a performance. None of his groupmates have ever pretended to understand it, and it's really only a bite so he can't pass it off as anything other than superstition, but Daichi always caters to it, without fail. Koushi can't remember a single performance before which he hasn't had his beloved tofu, if he's being honest.

'Might be cold,' Daichi says as Koushi forays into the bag with the chopsticks he brought along. 'It's freezing outside, good luck with this shirt.'

'I'll be fine,' Koushi says after swallowing. It tastes amazing, even if it's a little cold. 'Is it full already?'

'Almost. I don't know how you plan to fit everyone in for all the Christmas specials.'

'We manage every year, don't we?'

'That you do. Watch it, onion.'

Koushi barely saves his collar from the offending vegetable, and pulls a face at Daichi while he laughs. That would absolutely have gotten him into major trouble. _Not_ funny. 'All right, now get out of here.'

'Rude, Suga.' Daichi puts a hand to his chest and lowers his eyes before breaking into a smile again. 'After all the tofu I buy for you.'

'Do we really have to do this every month?'

'Absolutely.' The smile widens. 'You'll be huffy, I'll leave, you'll be amazing, I'll be amazed, and then I'm going to spend the rest of the evening telling everyone that I taught you how to dance.'

Koushi rolls his eyes and presses the bag to Daichi's chest. ' _Go._ '

'Going.'

When the door closes behind him, Koushi turns back to the mirror and runs a hand through his hair, checks the glitter on his cheeks.

Then he smiles, and stretches, and bends down to tie his shoes.

 

●●●

 

Koutarou is still catching his breath. It seems like that's all he's been doing for the past few minutes but he hasn't managed to completely do it yet. At least going by the rise and fall of Akaashi's chest, he's having the same problem. (Going by the way that rise and fall is against Koutarou's hand on his sternum, Koutarou would hardly call it a problem.)

Over Akaashi's shoulder, he notices again the way the half-closed blinds slice the incoming streetlight neatly, dividing it into so many clean lines that fall over the mess of sheets on their legs. Koutarou closes his eyes briefly and still has the one image he both wishes and doesn't wish he'd been able to capture on a camera— Akaashi with his head turned to the side, dark curls splayed over the pillow, and that same light spreading over his neck and shoulders. Akaashi with his eyes closed and mouth open, that one silver hoop of his glinting something unearthly with his movements.

Koutarou lifts his hand from Akaashi's chest, kissing the crook of his shoulder to apologise for the absence, and  raises it to the light. He can still see the dark smudge on the tip of his thumb, so he turns it this way and that to see how it looks. He can't seem to take his eyes off it any more than he could take his eyes off Akaashi.

'I mean, I could scribble over your skin if that's a thing of yours,' Akaashi says, and Koutarou growls, playfully jostles him with the other hand. 'We all have our fixations.'

'Well, I've sure seen yours now, haven't I.' Koutarou trails a finger up Akaashi's spine and presses it into the nape of his neck, just hard enough to make Akaashi's head tip forward. Akaashi doesn't make a sound but the way he stiffens is everything.

In all honestly, Koutarou wouldn't have bet on Akaashi letting him do all this holding, but that just makes it a pleasant surprise. It's not that he'd mind if it were otherwise, absolutely not. But the thing is that Koutarou thrives on touch, and so it feels like he's coming more and more to life, this room, himself, with every sweep of his thumb over some inch of Akaashi's body. How he manages to do that while simultaneously getting more and more lost each time is beyond him, but like he said, he manages to do things that not a lot of other people do. He's hyperaware of every line of this room's composition right now, most importantly the lines of who he's got in his arms, and at the same time he's one breath away from the clouds— but he's still catching his breath.

'So, Keiji,' he says, and Akaashi snorts immediately. 'What?'

'Don't tell me _that_ was your rite of passage into first names.'

'All right, so I'm a bit of a materialist,' Koutarou says indignantly. 'You know I've always had issues with object permanence.'

'You don't say.' Akaashi turns around and loops his arms around Koutarou's neck, looks gravely into his eyes. 'Is that the excuse you use when you cheat on people? _I forgot I have a boyfriend._ '

'No, actually. I go for _the DJ got us falling—_ '

'Oh, my God, no, don't ruin the peace.'

'Ah, yeah, you were really maintaining the peace there.'

'You were saying.'

'Hmm?' Koutarou mouths at the sharp edge of one shoulder, closes his eyes and kisses it. He doesn't know what fucking year it is anymore. 'What was I saying?'

' _So, Keiji._ So, Keiji, what?'

_So, Keiji, you are possibly the best thing I've ever caught on the wrong side of the camera. So, Keiji, holy shit._

'So, Keiji,' he says, 'I got you something.'

'Did you, now.' Akaashi is a lot of things tonight that he isn't usually. Expressive, playful, laughing. The obnoxious note he has in his voice right now is making Koutarou laugh along without any reason. 'What did you get me?'

'A vinyl. It's on the couch. Almost crushed it when you pushed me down.'

'I'm glad you didn't, then. What's on it?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?'

Akaashi huffs and pushes lightly at Koutarou's chest. 'I'm hoping it's some sort of redeeming case for my opinion of your music taste.'

Koutarou sighs, shakes his head. 'You caught me. It's just a loop of the Russian error page.'

There's a pause of five, ten, fifteen seconds during which Koutarou sincerely begins to think that Akaashi took him seriously. He opens his mouth to clarify—

Akaashi bursts into laughter. He doesn't ease into it, doesn't start off low and keep it low, doesn't start off low and then turn it up. No, he _bursts_ into laughter, and it's high, and clear, and it's the best thing Koutarou's ever heard in his life. Akaashi's probably turning pink with it and Koutarou wishes he could see, but he'll make do with the way his shoulders are shaking, the way his eyes are closed, the way he leans backwards into the pillow and shakes his head, still laughing and laughing.

'It's,' he begins, and shakes his head again, laughs a little more. 'I _told_ you, it's— it's not even Russian. It's _Ukrainian._ '

Koutarou blinks and remembers that he's right, and starts laughing too. It's softer than Akaashi's which would be an existential change if he could care about it, and he rolls over and muffles it into Akaashi's shoulder.

'How do you even _know_ that?' he gasps, and Akaashi just keeps laughing. 'How do you know all these _things?_ Gosh, Akaashi—'

'Keiji,' he corrects, _still_ laughing.

'Keiji,' Koutarou corrects, and the laughter keeps bubbling out like they're both giddy children. He slides his arms around Akaashi and Akaashi moves his hands over Koutarou's back, and they wait for their mirth to ease before drawing together to kiss. They're still laughing a little, enough to throw off their co-ordination, and Koutarou's heart is beating a mile a minute.

 

●●●

 

It goes beautifully.

Dance is not a large part of Koushi's life; it's the foundation. Omnipresent to the point that he doesn't notice it anymore, that he wouldn't think to introduce himself by saying _I am Sugawara Koushi and I like dance._ It's such a part of his being that he forgets to talk about it, and sometimes wonders in retrospect if some of his acquaintances even know that he knows how to dance.

The performances usually take care of that doubt, though, because they are there for everyone to see. And when they go beautifully, Koushi feels like something brighter and steadier than complex emotion shines through him. Some kind of happiness that makes him lose his breath more than dancing itself does. The burn in his body, the cold ache in his chest from taking in too much air through his mouth, the different looks on different faces in the audience when they have one. Somebody's camera going off, somebody else clapping, Daichi, always knowingly proud yet thunderstruck.

'That was brilliant,' their coach says when they stumble backstage. 'I don't know how you kids pull these things off, but that was absolutely brilliant. I'm going to have trouble coordinating a more impressive Christmas performance.'

Kise bows dramatically and Koushi laughs, thanks their coach. They did put in an almost-disproportionate amount of effort considering that it was a one-time performance, but the satisfaction of making it happen will keep them going through the rest of the semester. He knows how his team works by now.

When they've changed and headed outside, Daichi is waiting as always. He's got one of Koushi's heavier overcoats draped on his arm, and Koushi pulls his cheek in thanks. It _has_ gotten much, much colder outside. He can see a fine mist blurring all the rays of the streetlights.

'How was it?' he asks, and Daichi shrugs.

'Slept through most of it, but Yui looked great.'

'You're a menace.'

'I'm _your_ —'

'THAT,' Bokuto says, swinging an arm around Koushi's shoulders so hard that he pulls Koushi half into his chest, 'WAS FUCKING INCREDIBLE. I think Iwaizumi was _crying._ '

'I was not _crying,_ you asshole.'

Bokuto leans forward and widens his eyes, speaks in a stage whisper. 'I think he's still concussed.'

Koushi laughs and pushes him away lightly, listening to him laugh in return. When he turns back to Daichi, he's fiddling with his phone.

'Picture time,' he says. 'You've still got shiny stuff on your face.'

'I mean, I have a DSLR,' Bokuto says. 'But go for your shitty front camera, why not.'

Koushi suddenly remembers Ennoshita deadpanning _Kodak-san,_ and a laugh bursts out of him before he can stop it. He chooses to hide it in Daichi's shoulder just as Daichi clicks the picture, and then groans in dismay and asks for a retake.

'No retakes,' Daichi says, putting on an offended air. 'I'm a busy man, you know.'

'Right.' Koushi snatches the phone away and looks at the picture. It's not so bad, actually. Daichi's grin is as handsome as ever, and Koushi's head is a mess of grey curls on his shoulder. It will have to do.

He sets it as the lock screen and hands the phone back to Daichi. 'Let's grab dinner, I'm _really_ hungry.'

'I can imagine.' Daichi reaches up and trails his knuckles over Koushi's cheekbone, looks at them in the mist-softened light. 'Yeah, let's go.'

Koushi's cheeks burn.

 

●●●

 

 **Me [13:37]**  
ok akaashi’s shower is fuckn ace

 **Honeybunch [13:37]**  
Bokuto no

 **Me [13:37]**  
ok like no i’m being real here he has like one of those next level hotel showers i shit u not

 **Honeybunch [13:39]**  
Do I Want To Know

 **Me [13:40]**  
you know how shower water HITS you

 **Honeybunch [13:40]**  
Yes

 **Me [13:40]**  
not this.

 **Me [13:40]**  
it’s like…

 **Me [13:40]**  
so...smooth…

 **Me [13:45]**  
like someone is gently pouring it on you

 **Honeybunch [13:45]**  
THE PAUSE BETWEEN THE TWO

 **Me [13:51]**  
shut it i’m havin a moment

Koutarou is, in fact, having many moments. And like it happens sometimes with the most important of moments, none of them are in his camera. But honestly, that doesn’t mean he can’t keep them safe anyway. Doesn’t mean that at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Believe you me, [The Betaship](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fyolette) and I spent a hysterical half hour on Skype trying to figure out what Bokuto would get Akaashi. At some point body chains were brought up. 
> 
> Bokuto's shower epiphany is one hundred percent real and brought to you by my cousin-slash-best-friend-slash-babysitter Abhi. COMPLETE WITH THE FIVE-MINUTE PAUSE WHICH I STILL CAN'T GET OVER.
> 
> SUGA'S PERFORMANCE! While I haven't described it explicitly, I absolutely had [Islands](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PElhV8z7I60) by The XX in mind. I love it.
> 
> [Becky posted a Jaywalkers Update Gothic.](https://twitter.com/dickaeopolis/status/731989560490594304) It's incredible.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/soldierpoetking) and [Tumblr](http://sturlsons.tumblr.com).


End file.
